The Monster Behind his Curtain
by Dr. Mini me
Summary: Once upon a time, I was invited to look at the secrets behind the man that made up Hannibal Lector. I looked too long and found the monster waiting for me behind the curtain. Now he won't let go and my own won't go back to sleep. I just can't seem to stop myself from peeking again and again. (Hannibal Lector/ OC or OFC)
1. Chapter 1

**So I realise its a narrow fandom for Hannibal but here I am putting out yet another OC.**

 **Let me know if it's worth continuing!**

* * *

Blood. Blood just everywhere. It seemed to almost gush from the wound on my stomach, making me only angrier and angrier. Who stabs someone but can't finish the job? Honestly now, what sort of life are we into here? Have a bit of pride.

"Miss?" I heard the noise and spun the to side, nearly tumbling over in my haste. I was on my way to the hospital but surprisingly enough I couldn't find a taxi to take me in far out Ashland, Wisconsin. What. A. Bloody. Surprise...pun intended.

"We need to get you to the hospital." He came forwards, too fast. I didn't like how quickly he moved, it scared me into forcing a scream out of my hollow lungs. I don't remember much at all after this, a blur of people scrambling around us, my knees hitting the gravel, bright florescent lights rolling past me on a reel...Now my lungs felt scratchy.

I blinked a few times, taking in the room with its white walls, sparse furniture and bright lights. This was a hospital, the antiseptic smell lingered on in my nostrils, almost distracting me from the man who sat patiently on the chair next to me. His suit was tailored, well off then but not married, no. He was just a clean-freak. But why was he here? He lacked a badge so he wasn't apart of the hospital, private.

"Its rude to make people wait." His voice was lighter but serious in it's tone. I wanted to know where he was from because I hadn't heard that sort of accent before.

"I like to know what I'm getting myself into before I start." I caught his eye as I sat up in the bed, paper gown and all with the sound of my heart beat steady in the background. "Fatal flaw of mine." I tilted my head as I unabashedly took him in.

"Are you always this paranoid Miss...?" He was medical somehow, but worked with his hands judging from those callouses so maybe he hadn't _always_ been medical. People looked so out of place when they visited hospitals, halls rank with death and decay but he fit in. He was smooth, translucent but opaque. I couldn't _see_ him.

"Murphy." I stated my last name with little emotion accenting my voice as I stuck out a hand to shake his. This another telling sign of someone's personality, what they did when they shook you hand. Did they look you in the eye? Was it smooth? Did they exaggerate their grip?

"Hannibal Lecter. I assume theres also a last name there." His handshake was firm but loose, he looked me in the eye and gave a single shake, letting go. He was comfortable, didn't feel like he needed to demonstrate anything to me. Confident then but he was waiting for me to do something.

"That **is** my last name." I deadpanned, looking him in the eye. I watched his face tighten then relax quickly, he was controlling himself. Add well controlled onto that list then.

"What are you here for?" I raised a brow, sitting back against the flat pillows the hospital had provided.

"You. I'm here to ask you what happened and evaluate any trauma you may have sustained as a favor to your father." He gave me a short smile that quickly faded as I realised what he was, a shrink. My father ran in both legal and illegal circles, he looked to be more towards the legal area but he'd landed in a grey zone so far. He was hard to read in the face.

"I was walking home, guy grabbed me, I hit him, he stabbed me, the end." I maintained eye contact as I stopped talking shortly. They always tried to analyse me to the point I shut them out and they merely declared I was dealing with a dissociate personality disorder episode or something of the sort. It wasn't true but I wouldn't attempt to correct them on that. Once labeled crazy, you're always crazy.

"Thats really all?" He raised a brow, watching me carefully. I was being analysed from the inquisitive look on his face, his eyes darted from feature to feature.

"I don't exactly recall much else than being angry with him for stabbing me and not finishing the job." I gave him a tight smile, expecting the reeling backwards to take place. Instead he seemed amused, smirking at that but nodding still, writing something down on his pad of paper.

"Very well. I don't typically see children but I would make an exception this one time, here is my card if you have any questions." He stood, handing me his card and turning around to pull on his jacket. "Your appointment is on Wednesday, 10 AM." I felt my lips tighten as he stood, so arrogant and assuming.

"I don't believe I'll be coming anytime soon." I grounded out, glowering at him.

He looked over his shoulder, just as amused as before. "I don't appreciate tardiness." He bowed his head in a respectful manner. "I wish you a pleasant recovery Miss Kira Murphy." I felt my eyes widen before I saw him exit my room, going down the hall. He knew my name and I hadn't realised it. He was playing a game now and a challenge had just been issued to see if I'd rise to the occasion, but I had to deal with other things in the moment. It was only a matter of time until my mother ran in here.

"Kira Anne Murphy! Nearly 25 years old and you're _still_ mouthin' off!" I cringed as the blonde woman stepped into the room, already on her ranting roll like a player taking to the stage for a soliloquy I wouldn't pay attention too.

She was irish born but had moved to the US with my da when I was 12. Da was American, of course. New money as one might say, he'd run into a major boom in oil long ago from his own father who'd gotten it in the early 20th century. He'd passed over 3 years ago in a car accident leaving me wondering how he'd run into a shrink.

"...You're not bloody impressing anyone with that mouth of yours. Now what do you have to say for yourself? " She seemed to have finished the yelling, looking for me to be guilty or at least have a little shame.

"I'm sorry. I was just..." I had no shame, but I mimicked it all very well. "I was just scared." I molded my face to look bashful as she seemed to almost crumple. I love her, I really do. She had my best interests at heart but I didn't share them.

"Ever since you ran into that idiot boy, Ryan or whatever the hell his name was, _years_ ago...you've been acting odd. I just forget you're still human sometimes, love." Her arms wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me close. Ryan was another case for another time to think about again. He made me into what I am but what parts he took away from me, I'd almost entirely forgotten nine years ago.

I don't think about him anymore.

I refuse.

Another time. Another day, perhaps.

* * *

"Be polite, and ask what he'd like more, cash or card." She reminded me.

"Yes mother." I sighed stepping out of the car. She still hadn't left Ashland after my incident, it seemed I'd been asleep for a good day or so giving her plenty of time to drive all the way up from her retirement in Florida at warp speed.

I was an adult in all manner of the word. I lived by myself, I had a part-time job and I was finishing up a bachelors in International Studies after four years of self study but she always treated me as though I was 13 again, just going off to boarding school in Ireland. I thought about going to Baltimore, Maryland to go ahead and finish up a masters in International Studies once I had my bachelors. My four years were spent scouring the globe for interests from Rome to Australia, I wandered.

I stepped into the glass building with some distaste, I was never found of glass. It made me feel as though I was living in the proverbial glass house only much more literally. Anyone could see into the smooth offices inside. Too open for my tastes and too easily breakable. We could go crashing through the window at any second with a good push.

Lecter's was on the third floor, it appeared as though he had the entire floor to himself according to the sign in front of me. My heels clicked inside the elevator as I pressed the large plastic button with a black 3 printed on it, the skirt pulled rather painfully at the stitches I'd gained last week but I refused to acknowledge them while I was here.

The elevator opened literally up to the door making me a little nervous that it would close on my hand some how when I knocked. The door opened quickly revealing the same odd man I'd seen before. I felt more aware now, actually taking in his appearance with keen eyes.

"Miss Murphy." The blank slate that his face started out molded itself into a pleasant but professional interest in my person as he opened the door. I felt it was real though I'd been wrong before. His body gave little away with his loose but confident posture, very controlled in his person. He worked out regularly but doing what, I wasn't sure. What could a 40 year old man do to keep in shape? Why would he _need_ to? Running wouldn't give him that frame, neither would rugby, or baseball, or soccer...

"Dr Lecter." I greeted, giving him a slight curtsy as I followed him into his office. I was playing nice today, testing the waters before I truly showed my hand.

"Thats a change of manners in the girl I met six days ago." He was attempting to tease me, to comfort me that he was really just like me. I doubted that. No one was like me and yet no one ever noticed that I was so much more different than them. His office was more telling of his person than his actual person, I realised this as I truly took it all in.

"Theres much you don't know about me." It was large but the polar opposite of the rest of the office building. A large library stood against the back wall, 6 shelves worth of books whose title's I couldn't read. He was intelligent and enjoyed surrounding himself with knowledge, then. Or did he just enjoy showing off what knowledge he'd gained?

Darker colours that were calmer but masculine pieces and large spaces in between the furniture. He enjoyed space between him and the other person but this was also a form of his personality. There was more that alluded me. It all made me feel like I was seeing less than the full picture here with too many different routes, all different than each other.

"I know that you're curious madam but reclusive." He was analysing me some more, making me smile at the shelves I was looking at.

"Oh?" I answered sounding distracted and uninterested on purpose. He didn't respond so I looked over my shoulder at him, sitting down in one of the three chairs in the room. "How so?" I raised a brow as I looked back towards the shelves. I kept my fingers to myself, noticing the almost obsessively clean space he'd made for himself here. His books were alphabetised, painstakingly so. I added neat-freak my list of traits.

"You're analyzing me just as I am analyzing you but in a different fashion, I think." He recounted slowly, probably checking to see if I'd already realised what he was doing. This wasn't my first round with a shrink after I was 13 so I stayed silent, choosing to look at his desk. It was large, a dominant feature in the room that was well-maintained. He enjoyed the power he held, flaunted it in the simplest of ways. Or did he enjoy holding the power over those who sat in front of it, acting as judge and executioner here.

"I apologise for calling you a child last week, I didn't realise you were a week away from being 25 years old." I paused my thoughts as I detected honest sincerity in his voice for the first time since I'd met him.

"Many don't. I realise I've got the face of a child." I snorted, admiring a drawing he'd done. It was in pencil, simple but detailed at the same time. It was Italian, easily. Perhaps early renaissance with the square, symmetrical appearance in which the building's proportions were usually based on a module. It employed the rounded roofs of such buildings and open door ways leading up to Gothic style wooden doors set in arches and decorated with a large keystone.

"Are you admiring my artwork?" His voice was much closer than I preferred. It had me looking over my shoulder with muted suspicion for the quiet man. His eyes weren't on me, rather on the piece of paper I'd been staring at.

"Perhaps." I smiled politely, looking back to the paper in a relaxed manner...but my body continued to stay tensed, despite my wishes.

"It was my boarding school when I was a boy." He explained, tapping the paper once.

"You went to school in Italy?" I raised a brow, glancing back at him.

"Yes. How did you know?" His own brow raised as he maintained heavy eye contact with me.

"The architecture. It's early renaissance, is it not?" I tested, tilting my head ever so slightly up.

"15th century." He nodded, the corner of his lips pulled up a little. I returned it with little warmth as I walked past him to go sit in my designated spot of patient and waited for him to take his as doctor.

* * *

"So...tell me about your mother." He crossed his legs over each other, hands clasped and attentive.

"Thats a little bit basic psychology, don't you think?" I tilted my head, watching him as he attempted to psychoanalyzed me.

"I like to say that if it's not broken, don't fix it. So, tell me about your mother, Miss Murphy." His expression never really changed as he watched me.

"What is there to say?" I raised a brow delicately, tempting him to react.

"Thats more for you to tell me." He smiled faintly, not allowing me to deflect the question.

"Shes from Dublin, Ireland. Her own ma died when she was a teen which left her forever breathing down my neck, married an oil guy, and here I am." I sighed, looking around the room again. This was ridiculous. Why do I have to be here?

"And I assume you grew up there as well?" He tilted hie head, searching my face for clues. I didn't have any to give away anymore. My facial expression was almost never sincere, everything that could be seen was because _I_ wanted it to be.

"Sort of. Boarding school in Dublin." I shrugged, answering him quickly and glancing away again. I had a feeling his face was similar to mine in that aspect considering the lack of integrity so far.

"I see. And you live with your mother now?" He raised a brow. I snorted then shook my head quickly.

"Not in a million years. She's just here to provide support for the stabbing." I almost rolled my eyes at that but stopped just short, resting my chin on my hand.

"Do you have any siblings or parent's Dr Lecter?" I gave him a polite smile as I asked, an attempt to diffuse the question.

"I had a sister a long time ago. I lost her and my parents." He didn't look exactly depressed which gave me the confidence to continue down this stretch.

"What was she like? A lot of sibling rivalry going on between you two?" I was probing and I knew it but it'd worked so far as a means of deflection. His lips tightened ever so slightly as he seemed to think.

"She looked like you. Yellow hair and blue eyes, Miss Murphy, and no. We got along well." His smile was more pinched now. He was controlled but I'd spotted a soft part in the wall that braced his emotional balance.

"How'd she die?" I raised both brows in a calm manner, expecting this to be the moment that his professional facade came crumbling down before me.

"A fire, Miss Murphy. Have you had a period of a week or more during your life when you have felt unusually good or high?" He'd switched back to the question's I'd heard before, professional indeed.

"No, Dr Lecter. I'm not manic." I smiled cooly, watching him say nothing more about mania.


	2. Chapter 2

"So...tell me about your mother." He crossed his legs over each other, hands clasped and attentive.

"Thats a little inconsequential for the reason of our session, don't you think?" I tilted my head, watching him as he attempted to psychoanalyzed me. So many had tried. So many had failed in my opinion, but what was the opinion of a diagnosed lunatic?

"I like the saying 'If it's not broken, don't fix it' and in this case, she is the reason you're here. So. Tell me about your mother, Miss Murphy." His expression never really changed as he watched me.

"What is there to say?" I raised a brow delicately, tempting him to react at my avoidance of the question.

"Thats more for you to tell me." He smiled faintly, not allowing me to deflect the question any longer it seemed.

"Shes from Dublin, Ireland. Her own ma died when she was a teen which left her forever breathing down my neck, married an oil guy, and here I am." I sighed, looking around the room again. This was ridiculous. Why do I have to be here?

"And I assume you grew up there as well?" He tilted his head, searching my face for clues. I didn't have any to give away anymore. My facial expression was almost never sincere, everything that could be seen was because _I_ wanted it to be.

"Sort of. Boarding school in Dublin since I was 13." I shrugged, answering him quickly and glancing away again. I had a feeling his face was similar to mine in that aspect considering the lack of integrity so far.

"I see. And you live with your mother now?" He raised a brow. I snorted then shook my head quickly.

"Not in a million years. She's just here to provide "support" for my little mishap." I almost rolled my eyes at that but stopped just short, resting my chin on my hand.

"Do you understand that your abdominal aorta was nicked? It was a deep wound, Miss Murphy. You could have bled out in 30 minutes had you have not been found." His tone was prudent, as though I was only lacking the knowledge to know how easily I could have died.

I went quiet with a wary smile on my face as I looked away from him. I suppose at this point I should be in shock, panic, terror. All of the little ringers that adrenaline typically accompanied. I couldn't find it in my to even pretend I was scared of it all. I looked back after he cleared his throat, he was watching me with a calm and calculating gaze.

"Do you have any siblings or parent's Dr Lecter?" I gave him a polite smile as I asked, an attempt to diffuse his question and the turmoil it should have brought.

"I had a sister a long time ago. I lost her and my parents when I was a boy." He didn't look exactly depressed which gave me the confidence to continue down this stretch.

"What was she like then? A lot of sibling rivalry going on between you two?" I was probing and I knew it but it'd worked so far as a means of deflection. His lips tightened ever so slightly as he seemed to think.

"She was similar to you, Miss Murphy, and no. We got along well." His smile was more pinched now. He was controlled but I'd spotted a soft part in the wall that braced his emotional balance.

"Similar to me how?" I was honestly curious now, curious to know what he thought he saw of me.

"Defensive. Cautious. She reminded me of a young doe, but with yellow hair." He was being honest now, making me ponder. Was I really defensive? I felt I was more offensive.

"How'd she die?" I raised both brows in a calm manner, expecting this to be the moment that his professional facade came crumbling down before me.

"A fire, Miss Murphy. Have you had a period of a week or more during your life when you have felt unusually good or high?" He'd switched back to the questions I'd heard before, a professional diagnosis was sure to come soon.

"No, Dr Lecter. I'm not manic." I smiled coolly, watching him write something down onto his page of papers. I had a feeling he wouldn't say anything more about mania. It's hard to run a a good, clean evaluation when the game was rigged before they ever began talking.

"Shall we just go down the line then?" He looked bored with the list but he needed it to run a profile on me, any changes from last month would signify trauma had occurred.

"I suppose." I sighed, looking towards a window. I squirmed, taking my legs off of each other and stretched the right out until it was fully extended. I was hoping it would elevate the skirt cutting into my waist and wound.

"Have you ever had a period lasting at least two weeks when you felt depressed, sad, or hopeless day in and day out?" He was reading them out methodically as I shook my head continuously. I looked back to him to find him writing still and looked away again, pulling my leg back towards me and squirmed in my seat for the perfect position.

"Have you ever had the experience of hearing people talking to you or about you when no one was present?" More sounds of his pen scratching against the pages. They were just as expensive as the rest of the room's blends of modern and antique.

"Do you have a tendency to worry excessively about minor things, and are you unable to stop yourself from worrying throughout the day?" He was just as bored as I was, I shook my head once again and stood to walk towards the window. My stitches felt less painful than they had been when I was sitting in one of his chairs, they just sat so low to the ground.

"What kind of issues are concerning you, if any, Miss Murphy?" He hadn't moved from his spot behind me.

"My mother." I snorted as I watched people run through rain and slick streets in November. It was getting colder now. I'd need to start bringing a heavier coat with me, maybe leave my hair down more for my neck's warmth.

"Because she's having you see psychiatrists?" I thought about his words for second, analyzing them for what would be the appropriate response that wouldn't alarm him. "Shes only worried about you." He remarked after I said nothing.

"I...understand she's worried." I surmised with a sullen attitude as I watched raindrops slide down the window. When I was a child, I always picked one and had an imaginary race to see which drop reached the bottom of the window first. I like rain. I always have. It washes away all the debris and decay in the streets, making it clean and new.

"She believes its all to do with a relationship in your youth, that you never truly healed." He remarked slowly. I didn't turn around at that, instead I forced myself to stare forwards, impassive.

"I suppose she spoke to you on the phone then." My voice was blank but my heartbeat was beginning to kick up. I wasn't thinking about him today. Deflect. Distract. Two of my three D's for such a situation, deflect, distract, or destroy.

"Yes. And outside of the hospital. And outside of your room." He replied sardonically. She'd annoyed him then or he was trying to relate to me for an opening in my walls.

"That sounds like something she would do. Her emotions run higher and higher every year." I played it off as a joke, satirical humor of a woman's supposed tendency to act 'crazy'. My attention turned to the curtains covering a portion of the window, hiding it from my view. They looked soft, velvet maybe. The ceiling wasn't very high but the curtain ran from the ceiling all the way down.

I looked back over my shoulder at the grandfather clock standing tall along the back wall. "And what do yours do?" My eyes skittered towards his as I processed his question. I began to smile and turned around fully, electing not to answer him.

"I believe our time is up. Cash or credit, Dr Lecter?" I took two long steps forwards towards the door, avoiding catching his carpet strands with my heels. I felt like he wouldn't appreciated that very much.

"I charge at the end of my treatment and yours Miss Murphy, has only just begun." He stood, walking towards the door with his hands behind his back.

"What makes you think I need treatment?" I raised a brow, snorting.

"Because you have been incorrectly diagnosed in the past with depersonalization disorder." He tilted his head, analyzing my expression in response. I didn't say anything, he was right. He was definitely right. I wasn't outside of my body. I was in it, trapped in absolutely nothing and unable to leave. I'd _love_ if I was outside of it, looking in.

"I expect you back here, next Wednesday. Is 10 AM amenable?" His tone was light now, much lighter. I sighed but nodded. If I didn't go, he seemed the type to co-hearse me with my mother's insistence. Then she'd _never_ leave Ashland.

* * *

When I went back to classes, everyone was all a flutter. All the girls in my senior thesis class thought me almost barbaric with how much I didn't cry but the guys found it cool, interesting. They wanted to see the stitches and hear the story again. My intermediate German course professor showed me _his_ war scars, discussing the time that a 'Charlie' shot him in the Vietnam war...I didn't realise how old he was until that exact moment.

It was uneventful enough for me to be out wine shopping on a Monday night with a girl that I was closer to than anyone else, Kayla. She wasn't international studies, instead she was political science. It was close enough that quite a few of our classes were together so we'd slowly spoken more and more. She was sweet though typical sorority girl material. A people pleaser and a giggler.

"Why not the white? Its a _Skinnygirl_." She exclaimed, holding up the white wine to me.

"Because calories are just calories and if I'm going to drink, I want to at least enjoy the taste for the first few sips." I rolled my eyes, explaining the reason I hated the brand as a whole. "Okay? Okay." I nodded quickly and turned only to bump into clothed arm.

"Pardon me." Their shoulder was above my head by a inch or two forcing me to gaze up at whomever I'd bumped into. "I'm quite clumsy sometimes." I apologised until I realised who it was. Dr Lecter tipped his head to mine in a small smile.

"Miss Murphy." He put a hand forwards for me, I slipped mine into his and shook it once then slithered away as quickly as I could. Kayla came up next to me, giggling.

"Hi there. I'm Kayla Malark, Kira's friend." She introduced herself with a blushing smile. It took me second to recognize the signs of sexual attraction in her posture and expression as she stuck her hand out to be shaken. She can't _seriously_ find him attractive, right? I mean hes in his 40s and wears these funky suits all the time. Some were nice but...this one. This one should have been burned.

"Hannibal Lecter." He bowed his head, respectful as ever. I felt he disarmed people with only his manners and the fluidity of his grace but I knew there was something more going on there. You don't need to disarm people if you've nothing to hide.

"How do you two know each other?" Kayla looked between us, curiosity in her features. I didn't expect her to gain her brains back so soon, damn it. I glanced him over quickly and spotted my favourite wine in his hands.

"Wine." I declared quickly, before he could open up his mouth and discuss the therapy I was being forced into with a girl I felt would spread the info.

"Wine?" She raised her brows in confusion.

"Mhm." I nodded, motioning to the bottle in his hands. "We both enjoy a good Gewürztraminer Spätlese." She seemed to a little wary, it was probably how quickly I was talking. Normal people speak slower, more casual, Kira. Blend in. Remember to _always_ blend in or you're singled out and then you have to go and do what you're doing right now.

"The exotic fruity taste of lychee I find pairs wonderfully with sashimi." He added slowly, at a normal person's pace. I shared a look with him for only a second but it told me two things: one, that he would lie to a stranger for me and two, I was going to have to talk about this in therapy.


End file.
